Inserting Incisors
I stared at Genevieve. She looked so small, so vulnerable, so incredibly human. I had never been more aware of the fact that I could reach out and crush her with the knowledge that just like that, in an instant— she would be gone. The fragility of life, how short it could be, had never been more obvious to me. I crossed my arms as a single flare of fear spasmed across my chest. A single stabbing sensation. Gen had no memories; or few enough. The fragmented memories she did have were only due to the my blood. My blood... and now? Now I was faced with another impossible situation. I clenched my jaw, irritation slicing it’s way through my fear, annoyance that I couldn’t sense what she was thinking. I hated that our connection had been severed, lost, just like Gen’s memories. I strained my focus, barely able to catch a glimpse at the fringes of her emotions, emotions hidden— no, cloaked from me, and not just because of our broken connection, but because she was putting up walls. Did Gen really think how she felt about all this wasn’t important? Did she really think I was impervious or didn’t care? A cocktail of my own emotions filtered through me, shaking me from the inside. Hate, fear, shame, anxiety— these feelings threatened to explode from within my bottled existence. Images of Claire, and her vicious deceit flashed red against the sea of my consciousness. Of course she had known my Father was coming to visit her manor. She had known he’d find us here... after all this time staying under the radar, this seemed more than coincidental. He had planned it. My choice? Now? What choice? Turn my broken wife into the same kind of monster I was? The same kind of monster I, and all like me... Gen wasn’t a killer. And what if she forgot me entirely? Or— leave her here, after just finding the only one who could bring peace to my storm, and face my Father. Facing my Father would bring consequences, as Soph had pointed out, and they would be severe. Gen might die either way. Father would only be too happy to kill my human wife, or my turned wife... I couldn’t, no, I wouldn’t win this one. Fate or Father, or Claire, had won this one. My only condolence was that Topher would also lose, for in killing Gen, she would finally be free of the mark that he had dared to put on her. Thoughts of torturing Topher brought me a small glimmer of satisfaction even as hopelessness filled me— as I turned to look back at my wife.
“Genevieve.” I shivered despite how warm the room felt. The only one who dared to love this killer. No matter what I chose, I was signing my love’s death certificate. “Damn those Nephilim to hell.” I hissed.
“I’m not broken Vincent— so stop looking at me like I am! I’m not afraid of you turning me.”
“But you are broken. You barely remember me, what happens if your brain resets again?
Why was life so complicated? Couldn’t I catch a freaking break? Would turning Gen be enough to get rid of this Nephilim ‘mark’? Technically she would have died, but if she came back as a vampire, would the mark still be there? Dying, of course there would have to be a catch to release a ‘scarlet woman’ of course nothing could ever be simple with the freaking Nephilim.
“I found you once— I’ll find you again!”
“If only we had more time.”
“I dont want to fight anymore.” Gen whispered.
“I dont either.”
I wished Gen would say something, tell me what sh was thinking— anything to help me make this decision. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her— to force her to tell me what to do, but all I got from Gen was silence. Silence and this unblinking stare. The same stare she’d looked at me with that first day I’d seen her at Acroft. Bold. Defiant. Curious. Did anything phase her? I wished she’d stop looking at me like I was this god. How could she have such confidence? After everything she had been through, hell, after everything we’d been through. God— I wish I had her confidence, it be great right now, like ay, making this life altering, literally, life altering decision. Turn her, she loses her fragile memories? Face dear Papa, and he kills her anyway, and punishes me— probably kills me too.
In this moment I realized how utterly exhausted I was. Tired of fighting with Marissa, Sebastian, the constant unrest between the Purebloods and mixed bloods— who everyone wanted me to be, who I wanted to be... My Father... If I was really honest with myself I’d have to admit that fighting with Gen was just the latest addition to a host of other problems and fights I didn’t want to deal with. Arguments I couldn’t win. Fights that seemed pointless and recently like I was always on the losing side. Like now. The last ten minutes felt like the longes ten minutes because of the standstill Gen and I had come to.
“I hate fighting with you.” I knew from her silence she still hadn’t changed her mind. “Damn it, Gen! I can’t lose you!” I blinked back tears. Father once told me, when I’d been twelve or so, and run to him sobbing about a problem I’d had with Marissa— Men do not cry. It was a weakness, much like a cancer... whatever that was. It was one of the most human things I had ever heard Father say. I had always been confused when Father spoke such human phrases, phrases I gather he must have picked up from his human associates. I tear slid down my cheek stinging my skin, as if even who I was, was offended as the salty liquid. I bit my tongue silently cursing myself. Did Gen not see my inner turmoil? Why was she forcing my hand?
“Oh Vince, you’re not going to lose me!”
Her bright eyes, too bright now as she suffered, boring into me. Again I was struck by the way she looked at me— like I wasn’t a monster, or a killer or a god aweful thing. It made me uncomfortable. Had I not been clear how many people I had killed, made suffer— how many people I would still be killing if not for who I was now? If I hadn’t met Gen... or fallen in love, or reconciled with my sister...
“I don’t deserve-” I closed my eyes and I saw them. The humans I’d hunted, killed for sport. Grey ashen faces, lifeless corpses, lying in the dark, forgotten, tossed aside, no one to care for them, no one to grieve them. I was the product of the perfect killing machine my Father had had created me to be. I was the sword in his hand, and each night I went to bed, I saw their faces, and I heard their screams— and in the shadows where there was silence, I heard my Father’s voice, “come my little prince. Someday you will be the head of this house, this Coven, you will rule them— and they will listen, or they will die.” His voice. My Father’s voice. I groaned and sunk to my knees as I heard Gen’s footsteps as she walked towards me. Gen’s footsteps were soft, almost as if she was dancing not walking. If only had had never met her, or maybe, if she had just run away from me, like all the other humans... anything to not feel so helplessly tied to this fragile human— her fate, and my fate were sealed together. Love? Was this love? I was convinced Father had never loved another soul in his life. Perhaps he was stronger than me because of it. I certainly didn’t feel very strong right now. Was that what I needed in this moment? That strength? Or was I stronger because of Gen? Because I love...
“Please stop saying that! Gen whispered sternly as her hands went around me in a light embrace, my head resting on her chest. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird, as if it was trying to escape— begging to be released. I knew I could give it, well— her that, that freedom, but at what cost?
“Ohh... My little bird…” I had called her that from the beginning-- how a hunter sees his prey. Both of us drawn in by curiosity— her lack of fear pulled me in, and my danger drawing her in... it was doomed to fail, and so cliche I should have stopped it. I should have stopped it. If only I wasn’t so weak. I pulled her closer, trying to hide in her embrace. Marissa’s warning ever in my ear— “kill Gen, I kill you.”
“Gen, I don’t know what to do!” My words sounded jumbled from where I hid, but she lifted my face and stared into my eyes.
“You know what to do.”
I breathed in her scent— roses and vanilla... would this be the last time I’d ever breathe it in?
“Gen, I haven’t fed on you in over a month-”
“So?”
“So? Before, it would have been faster—you- well you almost turned before.” I cringed at the memory. “Now, I’d have to feed longer, take more-”
“Shhhh.” She put a delicate finger over my mouth to shut me up. “It’s going to be okay.”
I moved her hand from my face. “And painful.” I shut up before my mind continued to scream— and dangerous, oh yes, and have I mentioned I have to drain you dry and feed you my blood?
“Whatever it takes.” She nodded.
I wanted to scream, again filling with uncontrollable rage— longing to tear about the room, to throw everything in sight. To destroy everything and anyone who crossed me. The urge to chomp down on a good sized human or two or ever more and drain them dry, crushing them in my arms until their mangled bodies looked pool noodles I’d once seen Sebastian waving around at some rave. I felt a low growl travel from the depths of me and escape out my mouth. None of it would be enough to stop my anger. Nothing. And there it was the monster in me, burried so close to the surface. Waiting. What would Gen say if she saw that side of me? The side I’d been taming for so long, the side I’d been raised to be; threatening even my relationship with my wife…
“If we do this. If I make this decision. Gen, this is the most selfish thing I’ve ever-”
“Oh poof. I don’t care. If you’re selfish, then I am more so.”
I tried to convince myself Gen could have had a normal life if not for me... she could have married a dull, human man and lived out a long normal life— but who was I kidding? Gen was Fae, she’d never have had a chance to have a normal life. If it wasn’t me, it was Topher— and if it wasn’t Topher, it was that alternate fairytale dimension, and that stupid god awful doppelgänger Prince Charles. At least in the alternate dimension Gen would have been safe from danger, and not about to die.
“I don’t regret it.” Her voice broke me from my vicious thought cycle. “I wouldn’t change any of it. I was meant to be here, and so were you. The two of us together.”
I growled again, this time causing Gen to jump a little, but not enough to cause fear, at least none I could sense. Damn, Sebastian could sure call a spade a spade. I hated that blue haired freak. Genevieve was my personal drug, and I wouldn’t— couldn’t be cut off now. Silence stretched between us fluttering, alive, vibrating around us, threatening to implode as we both tried to keep the bottled lids on the emotions we’d been holding in for so long. I could see the connection between us in the silence, like titanium strings tying our hearts together.
“The two of us together?” I held out a hand to Gen and we stood there, just holding each other.
“Till death.”
“Genevieve...”
I could feel her temperature spiralling out of control. I didn’t know if it was the house, the mark— my Father... her Fae blood trying to drag her through the veil but Gen’s condition was spiralling out of control. She mumbled something into my chest that was so quiet, not even my vampire ears caught what it was. Something was very wrong. And the timing? It couldn't be a coincidence. God, if it was the mark and Topher was somehow killing her because he wanted revenge on me for not letting her go? As if she knew I was thinking about all these things she pulled away from me, showing more strength then I thought she had left, her voice coming out steady and commanding.
“Kiss me.”
“My little bird?” Hunger I hadn’t felt in a long time swept through me, hot lava boiling in my veins, burning my throat and just there, just under my own frenzy and need to be satiated something else, someone else… but who? Gen’s heart shaped face fell backwards as she tapped her neck with her index finger. If Gen’s eyes had been open she would have seen into the dark hunger that swept through my soul. She was so pale against her dark sweaty unruly mass of curly hair, so pale it was as if she was already in the grave. I put her hand at her side and instead brought her face to mine staring at each curve, trying to memorize each detail. I watched her with a fascination not unlike a stalker hunting his prey— entranced by the motion of her nostrils flaring as she took each strained slow breath. It was then that I felt my rose and thorn birthmark tattoo twitch on my arm. My tattoo hadn’t moved this way since I was a child, since the day I told Marissa that I hated her and broken our telepathic twin connection. I froze. What was this, and not even what was this, but how was this happening? Telepathic connections between a sibling, twin, or spouse were only possible when they were in a certain proximity, oh like say, the same continent and last I checked Marissa was not in Britain, but safely back in Vancouver with her stupid husband.
“Marissa?” It had been so long that I almost forgot how to send her a telepathic message. No response. I must have been imagining it. My birthmark was no longer twitching, just moving as I moved as it normally did.
Genevieve drew my attention again, as did my hunger. I let myself kiss her, telling myself it was because I loved her, not because I was going to turn her. I kissed her gently, biting my own lip in an effort to not chomp down on her the way I truly desired, at least in this moment. Blood, my blood dribbled down her chin, staining her porcelain skin. She tasted so sweet, like a summer wine my Father used to bottle at Steinheart Manor, and her body felt as light as one of Marissa’s porcelain dolls that she used to drag all over the place as a child. My brain took me to memories of my past, even as my past threatened to destroy my future. If she was the crucible, I was Mount Everest— and the place where ice and steam meet... She returned my kisses fervently, and I lost myself, not in her, but in my hunger for her and for her blood. Red. Everything went red. I let out my emotions, each bubbling through my, my fear, love, lust, rage, anxiety... I bit down and drank deeply.
Through the haze I heard her whisper my name, and how much she loved me. I couldn't speak so dizzied with drinking her in. I wanted to tell her, I felt the same, that I loved her because I did. Instead I cherished the thought or hope that Topher might know or sense the mark fading from Gen, and the knowledge that she was never his, and belonged with me. Always.
“To hell and back,” I almost laughed, drunk on her, her essence, “I’d follow you to hell and back.” Now if there was some justice for what Gen and I had gone through— that, I really hope Topher heard. “Mine. You are mine, my little bird.” I pulled Gen tighter into my arms, like a cobra that had just sprung and again my birthmark tattoo quivered. At the back of my mind there was a fluttering, under my unfettered hunger and euphoria of the feed, I sensed her presence— just enough to give me pause. Gen was curled into my arms, her blood running through my veins, dripping down my chin and down my chest.
There has been a time, when Marissa and I had been inseparable, so long ago now I could barely remember... our birthmarks had once moved in unison to one another’s heartbeats. We had breathed in unison, known each other’s thoughts...
“Marissa?”
It had reminded me that someone else cared about me, even loved me, that I wasn’t alone... but not even when Marissa and I had reconciled had this level of connection been restored.
“I forgive you brother. I am so sorry.” Marissa’s voice rang out in my head.
What was happening? How could I hear her? She was so far away... I felt a wave of confusion wash over me and my hunger, her confusion, then sorrow; her sorrow and an intense hunger which matched my own. I closed my eyes and I could see he in my head as she used to be. Marissa as a young girl, her hair so black, wild, blowing in the wind... her eyes flashing daring the world to defy her— her green dress flaring out behind her as she sped through the forest behind our childhood home. So many years wasted, so many words spoken out of hatred— and yet now I saw things from a completely different perspective. Where had it all gone wrong?
“Father.” The hunger vanished at thoughts of my Father, and the damage he had done to myself, my sister, and my family. Unbidden tears, either from my own grief or my sister’s spilled down my face, mingling with the blood. I finally allowed myself to weep. I wept for Genevieve, I wept for my sister, I wept for myself and lastly I wept in rage, letting myself dream of things I could do to every person who had put me on the road to this painful place, things I would do if this went poorly. In my grief and rage Genevieve’s poor body suffered, I forgot she was a fragile human so focused I became on revenge against my Father— until I heard her bones snapping under my python-like grip. I dropped her lifeless body in shock and horror. I cursed.
“FRICK.” What had I done? I stared at her lifeless body on the floor, in denial of what the blood lust had done to me, to Gen... I really was a monster. I’d probably killed her, not turned her— with that kind of force. Still cursing, I scooped up her all too still and light body and gently placed her on the bed. A sharp sense of panic filled me, my own, not Marissa’s. I’d never turned a human before, hat if I had done it wrong?
“Marissa?” I reached out across our telepathic link-- but was met with silence. Well that was perfect. Now that I needed her, Marissa chose to be quiet? Marissa would know what to do, she would know exactly the right words to say that would calm me... she’d always known, she’d always-
“Be strong brother.”
I hissed. Strong? It wasn’t my strength I was worried about-- Gen lying there on the bed so broken and still showed how strong I was. I already knew that.
“Tell me something that I don’t know!” I shouted, telepathically back. It was an ironic retort that would have even made Sebastian proud of my cultural reference, but I was only met with more stony silence. “What’s going on with you? When, if-” I sighed. “If I-we live through this and I ever see you and your dumb hubby again, we’re going to have a serious talk about-” I stopped mid message as I realized how dumb this was. I could just pick up my phone and call her. “Damn it Marissa, you really do have the worst timing.” I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but as I did Genevieve’s broken corpse sat up and screamed, “he’s here,” before falling back onto the bed lifeless and limp. I shivered, who was here? My Father? Wait-- Father was here?
“Run.” Whispered a voice in my head— Marissa’s voice or my own?
I had chosen this path, and I had to see it through— regardless of whether I’d killed Gen or not, I had to keep her away from Father. There was only one vampire who could help me now, Claire. Enemy or not, Claire knew my Father, knew what he’d do if he caught me here with Genevieve. So, Claire would help me, and if she refused? I’d kill that liar myself. I spun on my heels and ran.
“Claire!”
